


Forget Me Not

by lapses_of_time



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapses_of_time/pseuds/lapses_of_time
Summary: In which James is continually giving offence, Lily's petticoat is six inches deep in mud, Alice is the sweetest soul, Frank's family collects toads, Sirius is an indolent man who lives to play at cards, Remus is most truly the gentleman, Peter is the happy man to whom every female eye is turned, Severus is not inclined to be silent, Hagrid lives to marry off her daughters, Albus just wants a moments peace and quiet, and Bertha and Mary think of nothing but officers.Petunia wished to say something sensible, but knew not how.





	1. A Great Beefhead and the Gentleman Who Merely Looked the Gentleman, Part I

**Volume I**

**_or_ **

**Darcy and Hurst**

**A Great Beefhead, and The Gentleman Who Merely Looked The Gentleman**

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, mus’ be in want o’ a wife.

This, according to Mrs Hagrid Bennet, sat at the breakfast table on a rather non descript Tuesday in September. The Lady would often issue such profound bits of wisdom over their crumpets, having little else to occupy her mind at present, the majority of books exhausting her patience and most embroidery being too fiddly for her curiously masculine hands.

Wisdom like this was never without design with a woman such as Mrs Bennet, and her intention was revealed a minute or so later, when she asked whether her husband had heard that Netherfield Park was let.

Let at last!

Failing to grasp the immense gravity of this news, Mr Bennet turned a page of his newspaper and looked at his wife through his half moon spectacles, an expression of utmost serenity suggested in every aspect of his countenance. He had not.

Yes, Netherfield Hall was let, to a man of large fortune- handsome and rich, rumour had it he possessed _five thousand_ a year. As such, he was everything that any doting mother could want for her daughters, and Mrs Bennet did not hesitate in telling her husband as much. What a fine thing it would be for their girls!

Mr Bennet turned his newspaper, and observed that he failed to see how it could concern them. But didn’t he see that she was thinking of marrying one of them?

“Mr Frank Bingley! A fine thing indeed!”

Albus Bennet, who had been perfectly still and unconcerned up until this point, slowly folded up his newspaper and looked at his wife with detached inquiry.

“Bingley, you say?” He asked, pausing to smile at his two eldest daughter’s, who had entered by way of the hallway, looking decidedly sleep deprived.

Scratching his beard in contemplation- Mr Bennet was the contemplative kind- the man returned to his eggs and his newspaper, adding only; “Oh, yes. Fine family name. Fine thing for our girls. Very fine indeed. I remember his father- had a penchant for collecting toads.”

Accustomed to the many quirks and eccentricities of her husband, having had these past twenty years at least to learn them, his wife ignored the latter part of his statement in favour of reading into the first. “So yeh’ll visit him?”

“I shall do no such thing.”

Lily snorted into her porridge, and Alice helped herself to a second portion of eggs.

 

Mr Bennet did, in fact, visit Mr Bingley. As it happens, he was among the first. After he retired to his study following breakfast, he disappeared as if by magic from his fireside, reappearing a few seconds later on a hillside three miles south, a book tucked under his arm and his spectacles set firmly in place.

If his wife had known this, she might have found herself somewhat more at ease, and relaxed over the next couple of days. For reasons best known to himself, however, Mr Bennet had decided not to disclose the information.

Which left Mrs Bennet to carry on her campaign completely in the dark.

Nothing could be commented on without also eliciting a comment on Mr Bingley. There was to be a ball at Meryton? Mrs Bennet wondered if Mr Bingley might attend. Bertha and Mary were going to see Aunt Phillips? Did Mr Bingley have any aunts, she wondered. The cook had stocked a new kind of ale? Good heavens, what if the young man didn’t like ale… What on earth would she serve him when he came over for dinner?

And what kind of young man didn’t like _ale?_ She wasn’t quite sure she could endure such a man as a son in law… Ruddy in complexion and jovial in manner, there was only one surefire way Hagrid Bennet knew to ensure a continued acquaintance, and that was on the strength of her ale. She was the best brewer and drinker in the county- she was renowned for it.

That, and her exceptionally pretty daughters.

Finally, however, Mr Bennet could take no more. Seeing that his second daughter was employed reading over a section on love potions, he could not resist commenting; “Careful, Lily. I have been most reliably informed those things are very potent. I doubt our Mr Bingley has the constitution for it.”

“Our Mr Bingley- our Mr Bingley indeed!” Cried his wife. “I’m quite sick o’ Mr Bingley!”

Mr Bennet had a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I am very sorry to hear that, my dear. If I had known that last week, I should never have called on him. I am afraid we can scarcely escape the acquaintance now.”

Mrs Bennet choked on her rock cake. Although that might have been the density of the baking.

“Will he be at the ball, papa?” Bertha asked.

Alice jolted slightly- with everything that had been going on, she had completely forgotten. Next week was the Meryton Assembly, and there would be no getting out of it, not if the rest of the family had determined to go.

“He may have disclosed an intention of that kind.” The tips of his fingertips pressed together, a sure sign of mischief. “He’s bringing a large party. You’d better finish that hat, Alice, dear. Blue becomes you.”

Bertha and Mary were giggling- a sure sign of plotting- and Petunia’s eyebrows were beginning to contract in disdain. That was all their father needed in way of a cue.

“And now, I am going to my study.” Moving slowly to his feet, he took advantage of his wife’s temporary silence to catch his daughter’s eye. In the lazy swirls of light spilling through the windows next to her father, Lily could see the absurd twinkle in the blue eyes just visible behind half moon spectacles, inviting her to laugh at the ridiculousness of everything. “Please save your raptures until I am out of the room.”

Lily would remember the shriek that followed the rest of her days. Years later, she would swear her eardrums had never fully recovered.

“What a good joke it were, not to tell us!” Mrs Bennet would later exclaim.

Expression schooled into blankness, Lily agreed that it was a very fine joke indeed. But the mirth sparkling her eyes betrayed her, and speaking to Alice later, she would wonder whether her mother would have thought it so remarkably funny, had it been continued an instant longer.

 

He was a tall gentleman, decent looking and richly dressed, with extraordinarily messy hair. An air of careful cultivation clung to him in spite of this, and though it could not be described as fashion, the younger Bennet's could not help but note the colour of his cravat suited his eyes far too well for it to be unintentional.

Alice remarked on his uncommon good looks, and Emmeline, on the size of his estate. Lily could not but be irritated by the annoying habit the man had, of tousling up the back of his hair.

Everyone here knew each other; knew who they wanted to seek out, who they wanted to avoid, and at whom they would direct their grittiest smiles and falsest pleasantries.

Perhaps that was why, when Bingley’s party entered, they drew every eye and silenced every gossip.

It was true that they were a small community, and to create a sensation of some sort is the undeniable privilege of every stranger entering a small community. But the fact of the matter was that at least one of the strangers entering the assembly that evening did not feel a stranger to the little Hertfordshire society at all. Mr Bingley had been much talked of in Meryton.

Every young man of 5,000 a year must be stared at by pretty girls and spoken of by scheming mothers, wherever he may choose to go. If he is handsome, then an entire community may be lost. And Frank Bingley most certainly was that.

It was not, however, the much talked of Mr Bingley who drew Lily’s eye.

For an instant the atmosphere was like that of a church, albeit with a lot more pointed whispering behind hands. As if that would do anything to prevent the five strangers discerning they were the topics of conversation. Then Sir Horace moved forward, hand outstretched in greeting. Emmeline’s father was not one for moderation- his booming tone filled the hall, consuming every crevice and filling every ear. Conversation spilled outwards from the party, gaining strength until it filled even the places furthest from the centre that the newcomers had formed.

“That gentleman with Bingley. The one with the glasses. I wonder who he is? I don’t think papa mentioned him.”

“He has a very singular expression.” Lily replied. “As if the whole world displeased him.”

Whilst this was true, it was not the whole truth. The gentleman did look displeased. But a strange aura of vitality and intelligence clung to him, perhaps in the way he stood, or the strange contrast between his hands and eyes. For though the latter were fixed and unmoving and filled, Lily believed, with a kind of general aversion for the company, his hands would not stay still. They flitted from his sides to the back of his head, knotted in front of him then behind his back, clenched and unclenched like the opening of a flower. There was a restless vigour in them. Hands not made for stiff ballrooms or stuffy parlours.

Dragging her eyes away, Lily smiled at Emmeline. “Are you not engaged to dance with Mr Abbott?”

“Oh, hush.” Emmeline laughed. The slow bloom of splotchy pink was not missed, however, by her friend. Emmeline raised her eyebrows. “You’re intolerable.”

 

As it turned out, Lily’s hunch about Mr Bingley’s friend was to be proven right.

The first half of the ball was spent in speculation about his fortune, as the first half of balls generally is when strange young men without wives attend. The gentleman’s name was discovered to be James Darcy, and he was a man of extensive property in Darbyshire. Found to be richer by several thousand a year, he was suddenly handsomer and more amiable by far than his friend. Wasn’t there something pleasing about the arch of his nose? Something regal? And he carried himself in such a fashion as to put his friend to shame.

Lily had to fight the urge to bang her head on the nearest wall.

That was, until it was discovered that his manners were conceited, that he was rude to everyone, and above being pleased. Strangely, Mr Bingley was suddenly much more handsome, and much more agreeable. Of course Mr Darcy’s nose was perfectly fine, but it was slightly large, and crooked. Regal having given way to supercilious, and there was found to be something uniquely pleasing about Mr Bingley’s easy manners and dimpled chin.

But it didn’t appear to matter what most of the room thought of Mr Bingley’s easy manners, or his dimpled chin. The instant the young men were introduced to the young Miss Bennets, Frank Bingley found himself caught.

So it was that, though Alice’s impossibly good nature had led her to lend Bertha the blue hat which suited her eyes _so very_ well, and her best gown with the _loveliest_ brocade to Mary, she danced not only once with Frank Bingley, but _twice._

Mrs Bennet could barely stop herself clapping her hands in glee.

Watching Alice’s second dance, the shortage of young men having obliged her to sit this one out, Lily felt a smile spread across her face. Her elder sister was lovely in a way that Lily had never hoped to be. In a way that made it look as if she had been touched by light. There was a softness about Alice, a gentility, which could not be attained by either practice or affection. But she was a terrible dancer.

As clumsy as Alice was, she was pretty enough to get away with standing on her partner's toes, blundering her way through the dance with an apologetic smile so lovely anyone with half a heart would forgive her for their bruised toes. But Frank Bingley… He was something else. Lily didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone match her sister for falling over their own two feet.

It made Alice anxious, Lily knew. Having to dance in public was something her sister dreaded. But with Frank Bingley, she laughed so heartily the colour rose in her cheeks, and Lily was glad.

Nevertheless, there was something faintly terrifying about how quickly the transformation had taken place over Mr Bingley’s face. His sisters, at the very least, seemed not to like it. And though she was laughing, Lily thought she could read bemusement in Alice’s face.

It was infatuation. Attraction. Whatever you wanted to call it. The notion of love at first sight was absurd. Anyone who had been ensnared so quickly, could certainly be caught by someone else just as fast. A blinding of the eyes, that was all.

So why was her mother not the only one whispering of matrimony? Lily gritted her teeth. The two sisters had heard Mrs Bennet’s exclamations, she was sure. How could they not have? No one could have missed the way Hagrid had clapped her hands together in jubilation.

Everyone in the assembly was watching Mr Bingley and Alice dance. After all, it was not everyday you saw two people trip and stomp with such strange grace.

The dance ended. Mr Bingley bowed, and stepped away. He was still grinning when he reached his friend.

Lily, concealed in an alcove, heard everything.

 

"Come, Darcy," cried Bingley, with an enthusiasm Lily found almost laughable. "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

Darcy replied that he would not. There was no one in the room, it seemed, with whom it would not be a punishment to dance, aside from Bingley’s sister Cornelia. And she was already engaged.

Lily repressed a snort. She could not imagine a punishment worse than standing with Cornelia Bingley, whom she had overheard speaking with Alice, and who had come across as insufferably self satisfied and condescending. Then again, she had thus far found no reason to think Darcy did not share these traits. Perhaps they would suit each other very well.

Apparently, Mr Bingley found his friend similarly ludicrous. He appeared to be fighting a smile.

“Good heavens, Darcy,” said he “I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! So many amiable young women, and several of them uncommonly pretty. I have never met with such delightful company, or such happy manners, in all my life, as I have found amongst this gathering tonight.”

There was something very endearing about the sincerity of his tone. Perhaps it was the contrast with his friend- people who come into a new society ready and eager to be impressed by what they find will rarely find a cold reception. But Lily felt new respect for Bingley to bloom in her chest- for, she allowed, she had not felt very cordially towards him of late. With all the talk about him that had taken place around the Bennet’s dining room table in fact, she had quite a store of hexes that she’d been saving for meeting him.

He was, of course, made easier to like by the suspicion that when he spoke of “so many amiable young women”, he meant Alice. “Uncommonly pretty” was a compliment Lily’s imagination was happy to apply to her elder sister.

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," came the reply, with a significant look at Alice.  

His friend laughed, and Lily, as if to acknowledged that, whatever his other shortcomings, Darcy had good taste.

“Oh, she’s an angel, to be sure. But she has a younger sister somewhere, of whom she speaks very highly and who is exceptionally pretty. I’m certain she’d introduce you, if I asked?"

“The red haired one. I noticed her." said he, his tone turning, if possible, more derisive, and more cold. As he spoke, he reached up and tousled his hair. Never had she so badly wanted to laugh at anyone. Or hit them with a good curse. She wasn’t quite decided which yet. “She is tolerable, but no where near handsome enough to tempt me. Besides, I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies slighted by other men. Miss Lily Bennet has been seated these past two sets. Return to the smiling Miss Bennet, Bingley, and enjoy. I’d rather be alone at present.”

It was the first time all evening Lily had seen his hands still.

Mr Bingley looked for an instant as if he was going to do just that, but then he turned to his friend and raised his eyebrows. “You learnt the young lady’s name rather fast.”

“It’s a small company.” replied his companion, with not a little awkwardness. “There are not many names to know.”

“You will never cease to confuse me, my friend.” said Bingley, with a smile.

Mr Darcy made no reply, and after a moment Bingley followed his advice and sought out Alice for their next dance. After he had left, it did not take Darcy long to follow suit, and Lily was left with nothing very pleased to say about James Darcy.

When she recalled the incident to her friends, however, fifteen minutes later, she told it in such high spirits that no one but those who knew her most intimately would guess that Darcy’s slights had touched her at all. For Lily was young, and of a lively disposition, a disposition which did not take anything seriously unless it was necessary to do so, and an infectious, self deprecating humour which took delight in anything ridiculous.

 

For the Bennet’s, the evening was a very great success.

Bertha and Kitty came home jubilant- they had danced every set, from eight until four, without once sitting down. Alice smiled and remarked on how well she thought the band had played. Even Petunia, to whom balls were rarely agreeable, was able to muster a self satisfied smile- she had been praised as playing “rather well”, and recommended to Miss Bingley as “the most accomplished young lady in the neighbourhood.”

No one’s joy, however, could match that of Mrs Bennet. She was confident of a proposal by Michaelmas, and a wedding by August. Sitting on the steps at the front of the house, Lily could hear her in the first floor bedroom, in raptures over how beautiful Alice would look in white lace.

And Lily, as dawn broke over the rusted trees, splintering the sky into glorious shades of red and gold, thought of how Mr Bingley’s eyes had clung to her sister, and how Alice had smiled. They made a striking couple. Something about seeing them together made her uncomfortable, made her itch under the skin.

It was cold, and Lily pulled the blanket a little tighter about her shoulders.

A slight rustling of muslim against the stones was the only warning of the latter’s arrival, and suddenly a tea cup was being pressed into her hand.

“You’re not worried, are you?”

The beading was coming loose from Lily’s hair, and she reached up to pull it free, taking her time to answer.

We’re no closer to discerning the truth, she wanted to say. As it happens, it feels like we’ve moved further away. But, of course, she didn’t say that. Instead, she said “I was just thinking about how Bingley smiled at you.”

So she listened to her sister talk about how Mr Bingley was just what a man ought to be- how he was sensible and humorous and amiable and handsome and ( _rich,_ she interjected with a laugh, which a man likewise ought to be if he can help it). She listened, and she thought of how this was what every other girl their age should be doing. She listened, and she was glad.

The cockerel cried it’s morning song, and Alice and Lily fell into bed with aching heels, still laughing, still flushed, and very tired. They slept through the afternoon, a rare treat, and when they rose, Lily could not help a comment, on how lovely it was to be kept in bed by something as simple as a ball.

 

The Bennet’s closest neighbours were a family by the name of Lucas, and it was a most fortuitous proximity. Their eldest daughter, Emmeline, was an intelligent woman of seven and twenty, and the particular intimate of Lily, their natures being such that their friendship was a foregone conclusion. As greatly as Emmeline profited from Lily’s wit, which brought fresh diversion and vigour to the apparent monotony of life as a spinster of seven and twenty, it was Lily who gained most from the acquaintance. For her friend was well read and serious, and had a practicality which, though Lily had never precisely lacked, had been in earnest need of cultivation when the Lucas’s first relocated, a fact which can no doubt be attributed to her mother’s influence. Application and patience had been dormant virtues in Lily when the pair first met. If Miss Bennet had taught Miss Lucas to laugh, then Miss Lucas had in turn taught Miss Bennet to think.

As for the other Lucas’s; Sir Horace was a kind man, whose knighthood twelve years prior had rendered him a little proud, although not off puttingly so, for he used this pride in an attempt to make himself agreeable and courteous to all the world. Lady Lucas was an small, endearing lady of whom no one had a true bad word to speak, just clever enough to be of use to Mrs Bennet, although not so clever as to be disagreeable company. Their other 6 children were all equally friendly, and their youngest daughter, Nymphadora, was a dear friend of Bertha and Mary.

As the principal friends of the Bennet family,the necessity of meeting the following day to discuss the ball was a given. To which end, the 5 Miss Bennets and their mother set off as soon as the eldest daughters had arisen, in order to talk over tea and rock cakes- rock cakes which were not, thankfully, the work of Mrs Bennet.

“My, Miss Lucas, how well ye started the evening las’ night! To be Mr Bingley’s first choice!”

Mrs Bennet’s face crinkled as she spoke, and Emmeline stopped a smile in a mouthful of cake. Though her friend’s mother was a good soul, of whom she was prestigiously fond, there could be no doubt about the response she was waiting to hear.

“Yes, but I hazard, he preferred his second choice by far.”

Feigning surprise, Mrs Bennet looked around the room, as if Mr Bingley’s second choice could be conjured up from the dust. Alice blushed. “O, you mean Alice? To be sure, he did dance wi’ her twice- and he tol’ Mr Robinson- I forget what he said, but it were very complimentary, very complimentary indeed. You get yer good looks from me, dearest, is it not so, Lady Lucas? Well, yes, I believe he do admire her a great deal.”

Lily recognised her cue. With a playful glance at her sister, she supplied “Perhaps you refer to what I heard him say to Mr Robinson- that Alice was quite the prettiest girl in the room, that there could be no two opinions about it, and that he thought he could settle into such a society _very_ well indeed.”  
Alice appeared unruffled by her sister’s teasing, her needle dipping in and out of the cloth before her, scarcely any colour rising in her cheeks. “I hope he shall- I am sure we shall all benefit very greatly from his society. He is quite an agreeable young man, I believe.”

Oh, yes, Lily thought. _Quite_ an agreeable young man.

Mrs Bennet could scarce contain her excitement, though she had had Lily repeat the story thrice on the way here, and twice more over breakfast. “Well, that do sound very decided, don’t it? Very decided indeed. Course, you mustn't get yer hopes up, Alice, dear. It could be that it comes to nought.”

“What of his friend? Mr Darcy has not the good taste his friend displayed by half. My poor Lily- to be only just tolerable.”

“What a bag o’ moonshine! Don’t you go gettin’ it in yer head to listen to that great beef head, Lily, yer better than he is by far. Such a caper witted, disagreeable man- it should be a gran’ misfortune to be liked by him, and don’ you forget it.”

“Mama!”

“What? There be no one here to take offense, is there, Filius?”

Lady Lucas, used to her friend’s language, looked torn between amusement and exasperation. Alice shook her head. “Do you not think that there could have been some mistake on our parts, mama? His acquaintance speaks of him so very highly- and I do not think a young man of Mr Bingley’s temperament likely to befriend a gentleman like you describe. Besides, Miss Bingley says that he is a taciturn, reserved man amongst new acquaintance, but upon further knowledge a kinder and better humoured man could scarce be found.”

“Taciturn! Bah! If he were only taciturn, the great dandiprat would not ‘ave spoken so ill o’ our Lily. That coxcomb’s problem is he were so ate up with pride he could not recognise a” pretty girl if she were stood mere inches from his face.”

Emmeline refilled her guests’ teacup. “His pride doesn’t bother me. But I do wish he had danced with Lily.”

Mrs Bennet scowled at her newly full tea cup. “If you meet ‘im again, Lily, I would not dance with him if he were the last man in England.”

Lily hid her smile. “I believe I may promise quite safely, ma’am, that I shall never dance with Mr Darcy.”

“His pride does not strike me as so offensive as pride frequently does, because there is great reason for it. It is not so very wondrous, after all, that a well looking young man with fortune, connection, every advantage that can be desired, should be proud.”

At which point, Petunia- who herself was _proud,_ due to the perceived wisdom and depth of her profound reflections- began lecturing upon the difference between pride and vanity. Lily moved to the other side of the room, and cut herself a second slice of cake. Though she felt great sympathy for her sister, she could not help but be irritated whenever she opened her mouth. Her voice grated.

When, at long last, Petunia felt the need to pause for breath, Emmeline interjected. “Very well said Petunia.” It had not been. “But at 10,000 a year, I do not suppose the difference between vanity and pride is a matter Mr Darcy has spent very long pondering. What would one do with a fortune as great as that? I should not know where to begin.”

I would, thought Lily, though she said nothing. She had had her suspicions about her friend for well over a decade, but there was no way to know for sure. Thank the lord, they were beyond the witch burning days of centuries past, but there was still great suspicion afoot about people who could do the things Lily could do. Silence was the key to their survival.

"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a young Lucas, "I should not worry for a second about pride! I would have a pet fox called Ernie, and drink twelve bottles of wine a day."

Lily’s stomach tightened, and she hid her face in the curtains until it was time to go.

 

As their acquaintance wore on, the friendship between Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley became a matter of increasing confusion for Lily. Where on earth was the sense, after all,  in an attachment between the respective embodiments of all that is amiable, and all that is determinedly disagreeable?

So here are the facts, some of which Lily was able to learn, and some of which evaded her until much, much later on. Bingley was several years older than Darcy, and they had been intimate from when they were boys, being two of the only wizards in a very large neighbourhood. In their earlier days, Bingley had proved a useful guide and tutor for young Darcy, who was forever being dragged into new troubles. His tales of Hogwarts had delighted a small James, who had reenacted Frank’s quidditch matches and spells with a gusto familiar to all younger siblings; Frank had laughed, and Darcy, who had no siblings of his own until very late in his childhood, had come to regard Frank as an elder brother. Even whilst they attended school, separated by several years and very different groups of friends, Frank and James had remained close. Frank had been there for Darcy in some of the hardest periods of his life; through the death of his parents, through the trials of his sister, through the betrayal of one of his closest friends. As they grew older, a shift seemed to occur; Frank had always been an older brother to James, but suddenly James was overtaking Frank in their lessons, was involved in occurrences beyond Frank’s experiences, was having to make more and more hard decisions. Though Frank had always been an older brother figure in James’s life, when Frank’s parents died, James found that it fell to him to guide his friend through his new business, through his responsibilities to his sisters, through the handling of his finances and servants and the running of his household. A shift had occurred, and Mr Bingley, with that good nature that was so often attributed to him, never once resented it.

For Frank recognised that there were parts of James’s life which were off limits. His friendship with Hurst and Colonel Fitzwilliam- those three were part of some great society on which Frank knew he would never dare infringe. He would never try to advise Darcy on his estate, or his work for the order, or the upbringing of Marlene.

For James nothing in Frank’s life was off limits. He could advise on anything, do anything, infringe on anything. What was Frank’s, belonged also to James, and with a fierce protectiveness and loyalty that was unique to him, James would defend Frank against anything and anyone.

Everyone who knew either gentleman, knew that.

 

September wore on and transformed into October, as September is wont to do, pouring water into the sunlight and coating the earth in glorious shades of brown and gold.

It seemed that Bingley’s affection for Alice was more than a blinding of the eyes. So much so that the Miss Bingley’s visited the Miss Bennet’s, and the Miss Bennet’s visited the Miss Bingley’s in their turn, and it was agreed between the Miss Bingley’s that though the younger Miss Bennet’s were disagreeable and foolish young women, and the mother intolerable, they should very much like to get to know the two elders better.

It is difficult to say how much of this could be attributed to their brother. Certainly Lily found she liked the man a great deal more than she had anticipated. His warmth, intelligence, and overwhelming good humour made it difficult to dislike him. And if he had not much genuinely original to say, he more than made up for it by being more than willing to laugh at other people’s wit, as well as being in possession of very sound judgement and admirable sensibilities. In fact, Lily told her sister, she quite approved of him. Alice had like many a stupider person.

Lily’s opinion of Mr Bingley, of course, was not hurt by his very great admiration of Alice. Though Lily could not like the sisters, she would have put up with a great deal of their pompousness, just to see Alice happy at his smile. Yet her sister was not hasty, and though Lily suspected she felt a good deal she did not show, she could not help but be glad that Alice was so cautious in her public meetings with Mr Bingley, acting as cordial and pleasant as she would to any other agreeable young gentleman of their acquaintance.

However, when voicing this aloud to Emmeline, she found that her friend did not quite agree.

Emmeline gave a shrug. “It may be nice not to have the general public know of one’s every attachment. But if a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."

Lily shook her head at her friend. Though it was true, as Emmeline pointed out, that Bingley did not know her sister’s modest and unassuming disposition as she did, surely any fool could perceive how much she liked him.

And besides, if Bingley truly liked her sister, surely he would persist in getting to know her well enough to learn her disposition and comprehend her feelings? Where questions of matrimony were concerned, one could not be too careful.

Here, too, Emmeline disagreed. Happiness in marriage, she said, was entirely a matter of chance- it was better to marry hastily and secure the match, than act with caution and lose the gentleman entirely. She had always known Emmeline’s view of marriage to be different to her own. But really, to be so cold and methodical… And about so serious a decision… An ill advised union could make you unhappy forever, until death you do part.

Perhaps it was that Emmeline had not had the advantage of seeing what a mismatched marriage could do to the people who entered into it. For the first time in the course of their friendship, Lily wondered if perhaps her friend were so very sensible after all.

But no matter. Lily was confident that their parent’s bizarre and in many respects unsuitable match had taught her sister caution as surely as it had taught her. Even seeing Alice and Bingley- sweet enough to make your teeth rot- Lily was not sure there was a love strong enough to induce her to marry. Not sure she had the constitution for it.

As absorbed as she had been in watching Alice and Mr Bingley, Lily was far from seeing that she was becoming an object of fascination herself. When they had first met, Mr Darcy had deemed her scarcely tolerable, in the second meeting, he saw no beauty at all in her figure, and at the third, he looked only to criticise. Such pride, however, must always be punished by nature; no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that there was not an attractive feature in Miss Bennet’s face, than he made several mortifying discoveries. The critic was captured by the beautifully intelligent expression of her eyes. Mr Darcy had seen more than one failure of symmetry in her form, and there was nothing particularly brilliant about her complexion. However, her figure had to be acknowledged to be both light and pleasing, and though he had many times stated that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, there was something captivating in their easy playfulness. And her hair was, he mulled, quite wonderful. It was not, as he had first thought, simply one colour, and he found himself privately fascinated by its hue, by the soft coppers and deep oranges and bright reds that twined together to make Miss Lily Bennet quite one of the prettiest young ladies he had ever beheld.

Lily, of course, was completely unconscious of this, and saw nothing more than a disagreeable gentleman who refused to be pleased by anything, and who had slighted her at the ball.

Frowning at her friend, she could be heard saying “Why must Mr Darcy persist in listening to my conversations? It is quite disconcerting, and I am sure I do not know what he means by it.”

“I am not Mr Darcy.”

“No, and I am quite glad of it. You’re far too pretty and far too agreeable to be encumbered by such a dour face. I believe he means to laugh at me.” This thought prompted her to laugh herself. “Well, no matter. I am quite content to be laughed at, for I am very funny, and make myself laugh from time to time.”

Amused, Emmeline watched her friend throw a glare at Darcy across the room. “Irritating, disagreeable man. I have half a mind to ask him what he means by it.”

As fate would have it, the opportunity presented itself. Darcy was moving their way.

“Please, Lily, do not. Such a powerful gentleman, you shall only regret it if you do, you must not!” Emmeline’s eyes flashed in warning.

But Lily was a self proclaimed contrary soul, and her friend’s warning only made her want to confront Darcy more. And so “Did you not think I expressed myself uncommonly well to Colonel Forster just now, Mr Darcy?”

The gentleman in question raised his eyebrows, a look of great surprise arresting him. But he was not a man to be out done, and a brilliant smile overcame him. “With great energy and vigour, although it is a subject which often animates young ladies.”

Lily laughed delightfully- a full bodied laugh, which tilted her chin and reached her eyes. “Mr Darcy means to mock our sex, Miss Lucas- I was persuading Colonel Forster that the regiment should hold a ball.”

“Not at all.” Said the latter. When it seemed unlikely that the man should say anything more, Lily turned to him with a mock confessional look. “In truth, it is not my venture. My younger sisters are very greatly enamoured with the regiment at present, and I seem to have found myself roped into their attempts to dance with officers.”

Silence fell, that very particular branch of uncomfortable which makes your skin prickle. Looking between the pair, Emmeline saw that neither was going to speak, and, just for something to say; “Do you enjoy dancing, Mr Darcy?”

“Not if I can help it. Good day, Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas.”

The two exchanged startled looks. “Mr Darcy, it would seem, is determined to remain an enigma.” Emmeline observed.

“Oh! There is nothing mysterious about such a man! He cloaks himself in arrogance and disdain because he is arrogant and disdainful. He lurks because he wishes to have more ammunition for his endless censure of us all, and he engages in conversation, so that he may return to the simpering Miss Bingley, and mock every word to which we have given breath.” She gave a light, teasing smile. “There. I have him wholly figured out.”

The truth was, that her meeting with Mr Darcy in that manner had quite disconcerted her- her meetings with Mr Darcy almost always disconcerted her.

Emmeline raised her eyebrows but said nothing, looking towards the piano, where the instrument had just been opened. Petunia was playing. Having been born a plainer child by far than her sisters, and not yet having grown out of it, Petunia was devoted to acquiring knowledge and accomplishments, and always eager for a chance for display. Though her vanity had endowed her with very great application, it had likewise ruined her skill, for it gave her a pompous and self satisfied air which would have quite destroyed the performance of a far better musician. Mozart was followed by the request for Scotch and Irish airs from her younger sisters, which she happily acquiesced to, though with every show of disgust that a young girl who says she prefers Mozart might be presumed to give.

Propped on a nearby wall, Mr Darcy watched them all with considerable displeasure- they did not appear, however, to notice, and the only impact of this stance was to exclude him from all conversation. He had, however, an ulterior motive- this pillar gave him an unobstructed view of Lily and her dance with Mr Fawley- she moved, if not with a great deal of elegance, then with more vigor than he would have supposed any women capable of. This pillar, too, had the added bonus of being directly in sight of Bingley and the eldest Miss Bennet, so he was quite safe, in that anyone watching him, would presume he was watching his friend.

“I can guess the subject of your reverie." came a soft, cultivated voice from his right. Mr Darcy closed his eyes. He had been dreading that voice more and more, these past weeks.

Cornelia Bingley was elegant rather than pretty, and had all the niceness of manner that money had been able to buy her. When he had first met her, Mr Darcy had not objected to her company. As he had gotten to know her better, however, he had realised his mistake. She was ambitious, corrupted by the affluent manner of living her father and brother had been able to give her and determined to climb the social ladder. She was also the most paranoid woman of Darcy’s acquaintance, and he had no wish to bring her harsh wit down on his own head.

Something about the way her voice grated, however, made it difficult to resist. "I should imagine not."

“You are thinking of how insupportable this type of event is, and wondering how on earth we should endure many evening spent in this fashion, and I have to say I agree with you completely. I have never in all my life heard such meaningless noise, nor conversed with such inspid yet self important people! If there is a single society on earth more decidedly muggle than this one, I shall eat my own hat. What I should not give to hear your thoughts on them!”

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

The reaction was instant, and exactly what Mr Darcy had calculated. A look of bewildered exasperation and undiluted panic flooded her face, and Miss Bingley’s eyes darted around the room fast enough to make you nauseous trying to follow them, flitting from face to face.. After teasing him, half jokingly, on the merits of every halfway pretty woman in the room, and congratulating him on how pretty a Mistress of Pemberley Mrs Bennet would make, she landed upon Lily “Ah! I have never in my life been so astonished! Miss Lily Bennet! How long have you been capture by those delightful emerald eyes? And how soon am I to wish you joy? You shall have a wonderful mother in law indeed!”

Inspite himself, Mr Darcy winced at the thought. He had heard a great many tales, it was true, of that lady’s mother becoming more than a little inebriated and committing outrageous acts-  singing bawdy ditties, chasing stray dogs, setting fire to her kitchen- which would make her a most unsuitable connection. Knowing as he did, however, that Miss Bingley meant only to tease him into betraying more than he felt, he wore an expression of perfect indifference.

"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment."

“Mr Darcy, I am sure your beloved Miss Bennet should be quite hurt to hear you backtracking in this manner! If you are quite serious, then I shall consider the matter completely settled. Though you shall have to forgive me if I chose to wait on you both on days where your mother in law is absent.”

The gentleman chose not to reply to these onslaughts, and whilst his composure convinced her of her safety, her wit flowed long.


	2. A Great Beefhead and The Gentleman Who Merely Looked The Gentleman, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice has a run in with a baby dragon, and Lily goes to Netherfield.

Sometime mid November, the following note was waiting for Alice at breakfast:   
MY DEAR FRIEND,   
SISTERS, WE HAVE FOUND, CANNOT BE TOO LONG IN EACH OTHER’S COMPANY WITHOUT FALLING INTO QUARRELLING. PLEASE CONSENT TO DINE WITH RITA AND I TODAY, FOR THE GENTLEMEN ARE DINING WITH THE OFFICERS, AND WITHOUT YOU WE ARE IN SERIOUS DANGER OF HATING EACH OTHER FOREVER  
YOURS EVER,   
CORNELIA BINGLEY   
The happiness of Mrs Bennet upon the occasion was far from what Lily had expected- she scarcely celebrated outrageously at all. In fact, she was dangerously quiet over the whole affair, though she did insist that her eldest daughter would not be given the carriage, on the grounds that her father needed it for the farm, despite the ominous charcoal of the clouds gathering over the wintry landscape, and her other daughter’s protestations that Alice would catch a cold.   
Bertha and Mary- who had talked of nothing but officers ever since the regiment had arrived in Meryton and would likely, as Lily observed sardonically to Alice in the private of their room, not have a sensible thought in their head until they left- were full of the news that Mr Bingley would be dining with their officers. As such, they could not be prevailed upon to lend a single word in support of Alice and Lily’s cause, and Alice, who was really far too generous for her own good, did not wish to cause a conflict. So it was that poor Alice was sent forth on a 3 mile journey to Netherfield, with only a light covering and some of her mother’s finest rock cakes to protect her, in a November showering.   
Watching her go with regret, Lily could not help but feel that her poor sister had been caught in one of her mother’s schemes. Luckily, she had been able to press some precautionary pepperup on her before she left, so any plan her mother had conceived, of keeping Alice at Netherfield indefinitely by means of a bad cold, had been foiled.   
If, however, her mother’s plan had been to leave her eldest daughter stranded in a stranger’s house by means of a heavy downpour, her purpose had been answered. There was no way Alice would be able to return without a carriage, and at 11, Lily received a furtive patronus from her sister, informing her that the Bingley’s carriage was engaged, that her friends would not hear of her returning home so late through such a storm, and that they had been kind enough to lend her a room for the night.   
Satisfied that no greater harm had befallen Alice beyond the embarrassment of having to ask her friends for a favour, Lily went to bed.   
Unfortunately, this had not been Mrs Bennet’s plan.  
Breakfast was not finished when Alice’s letter arrived. Lily had not even buttered her toast.  
MY DEAREST LILY,  
I WOKE A LITTLE ILL THIS MORNING, LIKELY DUE TO MY BEING CAUGHT IN THE RAIN YESTERDAY. DO NOT ALARM YOURSELF, FOR IT IS JUST A TRIFLING COLD. MY FRIENDS ARE REALLY VERY KIND AND WILL NOT HEAR OF MY RETURNING HOME UNTIL I AM BETTER- THEY ARE REALLY MUCH MORE THAN I DESERVE. I HAVE BEEN SO GRATEFUL FOR THEIR CARE AND KINDNESS THESE PAST HOURS. THEY HAVE SENT FOR MR JONES, THEREFORE, DEAR SISTER, DO NOT WORRY IF YOU SHOULD HEAR OF HIS BEING CALLED, FOR IT IS, I BELIEVE, AN UNNECESSARY PRECAUTION. ASIDE FROM A SORE THROAT, A FEVER, AND A HEADACHE, THERE IS NOT MUCH THE MATTER WITH ME.   
YOURS, ALICE  
“A cold?” Lily repeated. “Surely- that doesn’t make sense-”  
“Well, my dear, if your daughter dies of dragon pox, it shall be a comfort to know it was all in pursuit of Mr Bingley.”   
Lily trailed off. “Dragon pox?”   
“Yes.” Mr Bennet seemed remarkably calm. Once again, he had yet to look up from his newspaper. “Your mother fed her rock cakes with a mild strain of dragon pox in them. I do hope they were not in the batch you sent her with for the Bingley’s, at the very least.”   
Lily grimaced- she doubted they were in much danger there, since the chances the ladies from Netherfield would touch her mother’s cooking were not high at all. And if they did, it may or may not (but definitely had been) her desire to infect the Miss Bingleys with dragon pox since they had first commenced on their acquaintance.   
But still. Not the point.   
Mrs Bennet appeared a curious mix of proud and cowed. A large hand waved as if to flap away the criticism she could see in her daughter’s gaze. “It were only a mild strain. People don’ die from baby dragons. It jus’ don’ happen. And it were the rain weakening her system first what led to her catching the virus, so there were no danger in it.”   
Slowly, Mr Bennet closed his newspaper, and looked sharply at his wife. “My dear Mrs Bennet, the studies into the field of dragon pox are only just beginning. It’s a very dangerous disease, however promising this new research may be. Germ theory has not even been discovered in the muggle world yet! There is no way to guarantee your daughter’s safety, even with a ‘baby strain’. It was a foolish risk to take.”   
And he reopened his newspaper.   
As dearly as she loved her father, right then, in that moment, Lily would have dearly loved to throttle him more. It was all very well to talk about a ‘foolish risk to take’- where had he been when her mother had been taking it? Clearly, he had had a much greater knowledge of her mother’s plans than she. And her mother…   
Even with Alice and Emmeline to preserve her sanity, with parents such as these- not to mention sisters who never spoke of anything but officers and sermons- Lily often felt as if she were slamming her head up against a brick wall.   
“I do not suppose you considered the statue of secrecy in all of this! If the ministry gets wind of this, keeping Longbourn is out of the question! And we can wave goodbye to any chance against-” breaking off mid sentence, Lily squeezed her eyes tight closed. She couldn’t think about that right now. Not with Alice in danger. “I have to get over there.”   
“Is that an invitation for me to call for the carriage?” Mr Bennet asked. There was a twinkling in his eye again, as if he was sharing a private joke with his daughter. A daughter currently fighting the urge to snatch the half moon spectacles from his nose and snap them in two.   
“I’ll walk.” said she, shortly.   
“Don’t be foolish.” Snapped Petunia. Without anyone noticing, she had slipped into the room and taken up her embroidery, surveying them all with a smug expression. “The energy exerted should never be out of proportion to the worth of the endeavour. Everyone knows that.”   
Smiling with cloying sweetness, Petunia could not have looked more like a perfect young lady. Her sister’s fingers fisted in her palm. It took her a moment to gain her breath, and her words came out through gritted teeth.“Yes, well, Alice’s is worth the endeavour.”   
Besides, without her elder sister, there was something suffocating about Longbourn. It would do her good to go on a walk, to clear her head, and work out a plan for getting her entire family on a very prolonged trip abroad. She had a very sensible Aunt in London, whom she was sure would take her in. 

Family was not so very easy to escape as Lily Bennet might have hoped.   
Since Bertha and Mary were going to Meryton anyway, they had volunteered to accompany her that far, leaving her only 2 and a half miles with which to compose herself before she saw Alice. On their own, her protestations that she would really rather be alone might have worked. As it was, however, her father had been sending her worried glances ever since he’d noticed that her jaw seemed to be emitting a noise like the scraping of steel- or the splintering of her teeth as she ground them. He’d insisted, and Lily discovered, to her chagrin, that it is very difficult for an independent woman of twenty to escape her family when she is forced to reside under her parents roof.   
So it was that the first half hour of Lily’s journey was filled with chatter of Captain Carter’s departure, and how well Colonel Forster had looked in his regimentals yesterday evening.  
To her immense relief, Lily and her younger sisters parted in Meryton, leaving her to leap over stiles and stomp through mud unencumbered by the wall of noise that had been Bertha and Mary ever since the red coats came to town.   
It was not their fault, Lily mused, as she lifted her skirts to avoid being drenched by a stream running through Oak’s field following yesterday’s storm. They meant well. Or rather, they meant innocently. A young lady’s education too seldom included lessons in how to speak sensibly, and with nothing more interesting to divert their attention, how could they be expected to dwell on anything more meaningful than soldiers?   
The problem with Bertha was that she was born with little sense, and to accompany that deficit, a surplus of energy. It was Lily’s belief that young ladies were as in as great a need of an outlet for their energy as young men; the difference being that it was acceptable for men to expend their energy on hunting or fishing or any other means of physical exertion, whereas women may not, for the fear of dirtying their skirts.   
Of course, it was a valid fear. Lily’s had long ago surrendered the hem of her dress to the mud and grime- there was no way she would be suitable for presentation at Netherfield when she arrived. Still, she had never been one to allow that to hold her back.   
“I shall be suitable to be seen by Alice, which is all I want.” She told the nearby crow sternly, pulling her hair away from her face. The crow looked unimpressed.   
As for Mary… Mary would follow Bertha to whatever location was currently flitting through the latter's head. Alice had often remarked, with immense fondness, that Mary would go into the jaws of hell for Bertha. Lily had often remarked, with considerably less fondness, that it would not be a surprise if Bertha asked her to.   
And Petunia. Things had not been right between Petunia and Lily for as long as Lily could remember. Perhaps longer, even, than that.   
It was not, however, her sisters that concerned Lily most. It had come to her attention, that her mother was a fool, in that she had no sense whatsoever, and that her father was worse, in that he had a good deal of sense, and elected not to use it. She did not know if it was amusement that led her father to allow his house to run rampant, or sheer indifference, but she was sick of it.   
After all, a great many men had daughters who made spectacles of themselves flirting with officers. A similar number, perhaps, had daughters who made embarrassed their family in frequent self satisfied displays at the pianoforte. But few men, in Lily’s experience at least, allowed their wives to send a deadly wizard virus running rampant through the muggle countryside.   
Arriving at last at Netherfield, cheeks flushed and head cleared, although still considerably out of sorts, Lily was shown into the dining room. Astonishment met her.   
That she should have walked so far! And in such inclement weather! The Miss Bingleys, though polite, were cold, and Lily decided she needed no further proof that they felt themselves to be above her, than in their unreasonable outrage at her dirty stockings. Mr Bingley raised himself still further in her esteem, by finding the whole affair quite sensible, and saying pointedly that if he were ever to fall so ill, he hoped his sisters should go to similar measures. Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.

Mr Bingley showed her up to the room where Alice lay in an uneasy sleep. Moving down the hall, Lily heard him speaking to a servant, with a sternness wholly disassociated from his usual happy manners;   
“-every attention is to be paid to the two young ladies, do you understand? They are to want for nothing, nothing at all, whilst they reside beneath my roof.”   
Turning back to her sister, Lily bit her lip. All the anxiety and dismay at her parent’s actions rushed out of her in a choked sob as she beheld her. “Oh, Allie.”   
The eldest Miss Bennet was alarmingly green. Green coloured the veins around her neck and wrist, and filled her cheeks, brushed against her temples. Her eyelashes were an almost translucent pistachio, and when her eyes flickered open and close, Lily saw with shock that Alice’s pupils had been swallowed up in a shocking emerald.   
She grabbed her sister’s hand with a startling flash of panic that took her by surprise. It was a sheer miracle the Bingley’s hadn’t noted Alice’s peculiar shade- or, if they had, that they were far too constrained by proprietary to comment on it.   
It was true that right then, Lily couldn’t remember the polite way to say “Excuse me, but you appear to have turned green.”  
Tears were streaming down her face. Anger with her parents, frustration with her younger siblings, worry for her sister- all fought for release, crying into Alice’s palm.   
Lily could hear the fluttering of Alice’s pulse as if it were her own heartbeat. For an instant, she was seriously afraid. Then, she felt warmth brush up against her cheek. Alice moved her thumb slowly back and forth, watching her sister through lidded eyes.   
“Are you real?” Alice sounded like she was floating a million miles above the earth, lost to some delirious dream into which no one could follow. The raw edge of her voice sent a jolt of pain through Lily so sharp she almost cried out, and it was a moment before she could answer that she was very real indeed. Alice sighed in satisfaction, closing her eyes, with the barest hint of an attempted smile. “I am glad to see you. So very glad.” And she fell asleep.   
It was not until afterwards that Lily realised, in the grips of delirium, her sister had been trying to say goodbye. 

The sweetest soul that ever did walk the earth. That was how Lily most frequently heard her sister described. It was not that she disagreed- she had often said something of that sort about Alice. But it was so vague a descriptor- it sounded pretty, but conveyed nothing at all.   
Nothing to do with Alice.   
The hours which followed were the most excruciating of Lily’s life. Even decades later she would find herself unable to look back upon them without pain, thinking of the anxiety with which she had attended every change in her sister’s countenance, every flicker of her eye lids and twitch of her lips. She read into everything, until all she wanted was to weep, to get down on her knees and beg a god she wasn’t entirely sure existed to make it stop, to take it away, to relive her and her sister of this pain.   
She wanted to ask why it was Alice- Alice, who never appeared to think a bad thought of anyone- Alice, on whom this punishment was visited down. She cried out for an answer to a question she scarcely knew, cried out for absolution for crimes she was not conscious of committing, cried out for a sister she was determined not to lose.   
Lily Bennet cried, and found, to her annoyance, that it did nothing to make her feel better. So she nursed, and tended, and hoped. Hoped that it would be enough.   
Her sister had performed a concealment charm on herself; she had been worried about the statue of secrecy, and she hadn’t wanted to alarm her friends. When Lily came down and said she had found the eldest Miss Bennet much worse than she had anticipated, there was genuine surprise in their reactions.   
Which seemed like a perfect tribute to her sister, as far as Lily was concerned. But no matter. She would not cry in front of these people. She would not cry in front of Mr Darcy.   
The Miss Bingleys had joined them just after breakfast, and detected nothing beyond a very severe cold in their friend. In her sister’s sickroom, Lily’s impression of their characters grew, and she became almost glad that Alice had found such friends. They were, as her sister repeatedly said, most solicitous in their attentions.  
Midday had struck before, unnoticed by either of the Miss Bingleys, the fever appeared to break. Lily, who could have wept, had she not been all cried out, busied herself preparing concoctions to combat dragon pox, concealed behind a screen at the other side of the room. Keeping her hands busy seemed the only way to keep her mind from running insane, and as she worked, she chattered to a drowsy Alice about potions and how much sense they made in a world where nothing appeared to make sense at all. Chattered to Alice about everything, and about nothing at all, smiling at the drowsy sound of her breathing, as it filled the room, much less laboured than before.   
The two sisters returned at two, and Lily concealed her potions stand, stepped out and took her seat at Alice’s bedside. Though their topics of conversation grated on her, she conversed with them as best she could, and was rewarded, with Alice’s tired smile.   
So preoccupied had she been in her care for her sister, that the clock striking three out in the hall took the younger Miss Bennet quite by surprise, and she found that she must depart. With meaningful glances at her petticoats, which reminded Lily quite nicely of why she had enjoyed disliking them so very much before, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst offered her the use of their carriage, and Lily required only a very little pressing to accept it. When, however, Alice appeared honestly distressed at the parting, Miss Bingley was forced to extend her generosity into an offer of a place to stay, until such a time as Alice should feel better.   
Lily agreed, and a carriage was dispatched for her clothes. It appeared her stay at Netherfield would be longer than she had anticipated. 

Lily’s disagreeable respect for Bingley’s two sisters lasted only until dinner.   
Though they were very civil, and said all the pretty and proper things- how it grieved them to see a friend ill, how awful it was to have a cold, and how they disliked illness in general- Lily could not help but note that they forgot about her sister completely, the instant she was not immediately before them, and their indifference returned her nicely to the enjoyment of her former dislike.   
Their brother was the only one amongst them whom Lily found she could summon any affection for at all. He spoke little throughout dinner, and wore the most abstract expression, that Lily could not help noting that he was very anxious for Alice indeed. When he did speak, he did everything he could to put her at her ease.   
Perhaps sensing her discomfort, and her exhaustion, after what he could not know had been the most trying day of her life, he distracted her with talk of his work. Though not an especially scholarly man- he took, he told her with a mildly embarrassed frown, no great pleasure in reading- he was very involved in his father’s business. His considerable wealth was derived from trade, and though not particularly passionate about wool, he could discourse for hours upon his various employees. To her surprise, Lily found his stories amusing, and began to like him for his own sake. When Alice asked her to love him as a brother, she reflected, she was sure she could do it very well.   
The best that can be said for the rest of the party is that they were bound by common civility to speak nicely to her, and of the other two gentlemen, that they spoke little to her at all. Mr Hurst was an indolent man of fashion; there seemed little to him but food and cards, and when Lily confessed her preference for a plain dish over a ragout, he had nothing further to say to her. Mr Darcy, it seemed, did not intend to acknowledge her at all. Throughout the dinner, he sat giggling in a corner with Mr Hurst at some private joke, or basking in the admiration of the two ladies, which was all very vexing. After a day of frustrations, the last thing Lily felt she needed was an arrogant jaw-me-dead ruffling up his hair.   
It was a great relief, when dinner came to a close, and Lily was able to return to Alice directly.   
No sooner was she out of the room, than her censure began, and Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were tripping over each other to express their disapproval at her appearance and disgust at her manners.   
It seemed, however, that their brother was not to be tempted into joining the conversation, however strong the terms in which they expressed their outrage over the state of her petticoat (“Six inches deep in mud! And the gown that had been let down to hide it not doing its job at all!”)   
“You may be right, Cornelia.” said he, “But I felt that the exercise could not have suited Miss Lily Bennet better when she entered this morning- there was a brilliance to her complexion, which I had never noted in her before. And you must allow the action speaks well for her character- it expresses an affection for her sister which is incredibly pleasing. If either of you should enter into a stranger’s home like that- why, it should not bother me at all!”   
Rita Hurst’s laugh conveyed how very unlikely that was. “Dear Lord, Frank, how simple you can be! Mr Darcy, I am sure, would not want to see his sister make such an exhibition!”   
Mr Darcy appeared to be doodling something very amusing for Mr Hurst to see- it could have been a picture of the latter’s wife, but with certain features greatly exaggerated- and the two were overcome with silent laughter. It was a moment before Darcy could regain his very austere countenance and say, sternly, “Certainly not.”   
The effect was somewhat undermined by a burst of laughter from his companion, which in turn set off Darcy. It was some time before Cornelia was able to speak again.   
“I fear, Mr Darcy, that this adventure has rather affected your admiration for her fine eyes.”   
“Not- at- all-” wheezed Darcy, clutching the table for support as Mr Hurst sketched a reply in three elegant strokes of his pen “They were- heightened- by the- exercise!” 

It was some time before Lily felt comfortable leaving Alice. Though no healer, the books she had read indicated Alice was out of danger, and pink was gradually seeping into her skin where the green was lightest. Still, Lily did not like to leave her, and stayed as long as she could, until late in the evening, when she felt she could no longer politely stay closeted away in the sick chamber, and decided to brave the parlour again.   
Having turned down the invitation to join them at loo, due to the suspicion of their playing high, Lily retrieved a book from Mr Bingley’s shelves, and settled in, musing that it would at least pass the time until she could return to Alice.   
At least, she thought so. It appeared Mr Hurst had other plans.   
Bored with the game, he leaned back in his chair and laced his hands on his chest, looking at Lily with amusement. “A rare creature! Do you prefer reading to cards?” He turned to Mr Darcy, not giving her chance to reply. “She prefers reading to cards. How odd! How singular!”   
“My dear,” Simpered Mrs Hurst. “You mustn’t tease. I am sure Miss Lily Bennet has done nothing to deserve your cruelty.”   
Mrs Hurst looked at Mr Hurst with great distaste. Mr Hurst looked at Mrs Hurst as if she were something unpleasant he had discovered on the lavatory seat.   
It was with a shock that Lily realised both she and Darcy were trying, with varying degrees of success, to smother their laughter. His eyes locked onto hers, and if she hadn’t known how ardently he disliked her, Lily might have said he was smiling at her.   
"Miss Lily Bennet," interrupted Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else."  
"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Lily "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."  
"It appears to me that you take a great deal of pleasure in nursing your sister, and I hope with all of my heart that it may soon be increased by seeing her well.” Broke in Mr Bingley, with a smile in her direction. Lily was intensely grateful, and tried to convey her thanks in her smile, though she did not think Bingley quite caught the extent of it. A smile could not quite capture how great a relief it was, to be addressed properly, when everyone seemed to have caught the bizarre habit of speaking about you in third person. Lily had begun to question whether she was actually in the room at all.   
“I am afraid I do not have a very extensive library to offer you.” Said Mr Bingley, kindly, seeing the volume in her hand. Lily suspected it was a relief for him too, to have a fellow first person adresser to talk to. “Though it still contains many more books than I can lay claim to having read. If only you could see Darcy’s library at Pemberley! I assure you, it is beyond imagination. The work of generations, isn’t it, James? And he has added to it considerably.”   
Lily was surprised Mr Darcy knew how to read. He looked up, a sandwich Mr Hurst had been feeding him caught between his teeth, looking startled.   
“Oh, yes.” He said, distractedly, attempting to regain some of his dignity. “It is very extensive- as it should be.” He looked over the volume in Lily’s hand. “I cannot fathom how some people neglect libraries so. There is just not the appreciation for great literature-” he took the proffered bit of beef from Hurst’s hand, chewing and swallowing hard in order to continue with his sentence- “which there once was. A dire shame. First Impressions? I own the set, I believe. Marlene is very fond of them.”   
How he managed to sound haughty with a bit of beef stuck in his two front teeth, Lily would never know. “That’s strange.”   
“How so?”   
Lily took her time with her reply, turning the book over in her hands. “There is only one volume of First Impressions.”   
Bingley laughed. Miss Bingley scowled, and her sister turned her face away and lifted a hand to her cheek, as if she were watching something indecent. Mr Hurst howled, clapping his friend on the back and generally making quite the spectacle of himself.   
“She has you there, my friend!”   
Darcy rubbed his neck nervously, colour flooding his face, matching Miss Lily Bennet’s hair almost to the shade.   
Lily raised her eyebrows. “I should go check on Alice.” 

There was hair sticking up at every conceivable angle when Lily woke up the next morning.   
After having spent the evening tending her sister, she was able to say with certainty that the worst had passed much more rapidly than anticipated, that the potions she had brought with her had been most beneficial, and that Alice was looking definitively less green.   
Seeing her sister looking better certainly leant Lily some perspective on her anger with her parents. Though she was still furious she had to acknowledge that- thanks to Alice’s quick spellwork and the ample supply of generic household cures in the Bennet stores- no harm had been done to her sister or magical security. With that, and her mother’s expertise in all things dragon related, in mind, Lily decided to send a patronus to Mrs Bennet, asking her to come down to Netherfield and judge Alice’s case herself.   
After having reported Alice’s favourable condition to the maid Mr. Bingley had dispatched to their door just after seven, Lily went to a deserted corner of the library.   
It would be quicker, she had reasoned, to send a patronus to her mother. Though Alice’s case was not precisely urgent, it still seemed like folly to waste time procuring a letter, a boy to send the letter, and a sister at Longbourn to read it to their mother on the other side. And it would be a relief, after a couple of days, to produce some magic.   
In the end, however, she had no better excuse than that she had been hiding for a long time in the same neighbourhood where no one seemed to see anything, even when it was directly before their eyes. She had become complacent.   
“That’s an impressive bit of magic.”   
Lily whipped around, panic shooting through her so fast she felt almost faint with it. Without precisely knowing how it had got there, her hand was on her ribcage- something there was obstructing her breathing. Her laces were too tight.  
“I thought- I thought Mr Bingley said no one used this corner of the house?”   
“Yes. Well. I enjoy the view.”   
His voice dripped with an irony that was not precisely wit. Had it been anyone but him, how much easier Lily could have borne it! Her hand tightened on the handle of her wand.   
Moving with a seemingly unconscious grace from his position on the windowsill, he tossed aside the remains of his cigar with a flick of his long fingers and surveying her with unbridled amusement. There was a keen intelligence there that Lily had never before noticed in the thick atmosphere of the drawing room, and she wondered quite unexpectedly how much of the gentleman’s slovenly manners and exaggerated indifference was for the benefit of his wife. It wouldn’t be the first time a gentleman had gone out of his way to irritate his partner following an ill advised match.   
But there were more pressing things demanding her attention at this moment.   
Like the fact that Mr Hurst did not appear at all alarmed that a huge silver doe had just charged through his friend’s parlour.   
“If you don’t mind my observing, Mr Hurst, muggles generally react a little differently to displays of magic. I was given to understand there’d be a lot more screaming involved.” She raised an eyebrow, watching his countenance for anything resembling alarm. All she found was amusement. “I’m almost disappointed.”   
He flashed her a smile of irritatingly shiny teeth. “Well, we can’t have that, can we, Miss Bennet? I shall have to try again.”   
Almost anyone but him, Lily amended. She couldn’t imagine Mr Darcy taking it this well.   
Everything in her posture, from her tapping foot to her raised eyebrow, suggested expectation. Still, Mr Hurst said nothing. Intolerable man! He crossed his arms across his chest, a stance of defiance.  
That smirk was unbearable.   
“I should like an explanation. Didn’t your mother ever tell you never to keep a lady waiting?”   
A dark look moved across Mr Hurst’s face, gone so quickly Lily could not be sure she’d seen it. That disconcerting smirk was back on his face. “Oh, no, she did. But you’re no lady, are you, Miss Bennet?”  
Clearly, he was expecting outrage. Lily was determined not to give him the satisfaction. The whole situation was so ludicrous, besides, that she was very far from stung, and gave in to laughter. “And you, Mr Hurst, are very far from behaving like a gentleman.”  
A lazy smile graced Mr Hurst’s face, displacing the smirk. “Ouch.”   
“Well?”   
“Really, Miss Bennet. How many muggles do you know who name their children after constellations?”   
“People have all sorts of bizarre names nowadays.” Lily informed him with dignity. “Miss Uriana Poppleton married Mr Peregrine Westwood last week. It was quite the celebration.”   
“Uriana?” Mr Hurst looked like a child who had just found a box of excitable puppies. “Uriana Poppleton?”   
Lily nodded. Mr Hurst gave a mad bark of laughter. “So long as I live, I shall never complain about my name again. Poor child!”   
Lily watched him chortle to himself over the unfortunate Uriana, reaching inside his jacket for another cigar. No wonder his wife couldn’t abide him- he was a perpetual chimney pot. Although Lily had to admit, the smell was quite pleasing. Perhaps she was dreaming.   
It felt strange, conversing with a man she barely knew on strange names and magic. Of the three men of the Bingley party- Mr Darcy included- Mr Hurst had struck her as the hardest to hold a discussion with. With those wished to talk to he had the gift of being as uncommonly charming. Yet he had always kept her at a firm distance, rebuffing all her attempts at friendly conversation, and, when he did deign to look at her, surveying her as if she were some dangerous species he had stumbled across in hibernation and thought it best not to disturb.   
Furthermore, in all her meetings with Mr Hurst so far, she had gained the impression that he was fond of mystery and hyperbole. Perhaps it really was an intricate lie, constructed to mock her. But surely nothing quite so elaborate as this could be made up. Not by someone without knowledge of magic.   
“Did you always know?” she asked. “About my being a witch?”   
A shrug answered her. “I suspected. The eldest Miss Bennet does not have a very promising career in espionage, and you, Miss Bennet, are not very subtle. Beside which, who else turns green when they have a cold? Your sister’s concealment charms leave something to be desired.”   
“Alice’s concealment charms were flawless! And I think you will find, sir, that I am much more subtle than you!”   
Sirius barked again. “Did you or did you not utter five witticisms about the acromantula and the goblin over dinner last night?”   
Lily paused. It was true; Mr Darcy had been infuriating, and she had wanted to insult him without his knowledge. A jest about feeding him to acromantula had seemed a natural jump. Defiance rose in her- Mr Hurst had known all this time! Who was to know how many of the others were magical? It didn’t bear thinking about.   
“Yes! Subtle ones!” she shot back. Mr Hurst snorted.   
“You were just caught breaking the statue of secrecy.”   
“It wasn’t a secret from you!”   
“You didn’t know that. You could have compromised the entire balance of our world because you couldn’t be arsed waiting for the post boy.”   
“You cannot-” Lily spluttered, momentarily startled. “That type of language isn’t appropriate. I want you to apologise.”   
Sirius’s eyes flashed. It was the first time could remember seeing him in earnest. “People die of dragon pox everyday, Miss Bennet. Your mother compromised the health of our entire household because she had her eldest daughter’s cap set at Frank. So if anyone owes an apology here, ma’am, it is you.”   
Lily scanned his face for a jest, but could find none. As loathe as she was to admit it, he was in the right. “I apologise, Mr Hurst, most sincerely. I would not have put any of you in such danger for all the world. It was done without my knowledge, and on my mother’s behalf, I beg your forgiveness.”   
He smiled coldly, mockingly, and stepped towards the window, looking away from her as he spoke. “You have it. And speaking of your mother, I believe that was her carriage in the drive.”   
Lily stepped to the window and looked down- they were five flights up, but she could distinctly make out her mother, stepping out of the carriage. Lawks, perhaps it had been a mistake.   
“Excuse me.” she murmured.   
“Miss Bennet?” Mr Hurst said, laughter back in his face. “I was taught by your father. A very nice man, although a little over attached to sherbert lemons.”  
Of course, thought Lily, as she walked away. Hogwarts. It should have been obvious. After all, there most certainly was not anything wrong with Alice’s concealment charm. She should be pleased- if Mr Hurst was acquainted with their father, it was unlikely that he had discovered their secret through any fault of theirs. She could rest easy.   
Instead, she found herself filled with a hollow, aching envy. A thousand questions bubbled to her lips, but it seemed unlikely that she should have an occasion to speak to Mr Hurst alone again.   
Hogwarts. How very odd, she thought, that nearly 400 students passed through the halls of Professor Bennet’s school of witchcraft and wizardry every year, yet none of his five daughters had been present for a single lesson. 

Mrs Bennet and two of her younger daughters arrived not long before breakfast- a fact she was very sure Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were gossiping over at length even now, construing it as a sign of very bad breeding indeed.   
Almost the instant they were alone, there was profuse apologies on Mrs Bennet’s lips- Lily found that her mother had been miserable and lost ever since her departure from Longbourn the previous day, though, with a childlike naivety, she had yet to work out the true extent of her transgression. If she had arrived, and discovered that Alice was in a dangerous state, there is no doubt that Mrs Bennet would have proved inconsolable. As it was, however, she was quite reassured, and had the happiness of observing, that since her eldest daughter’s illness persisted, Mr Bingley would most certainly be obliged to keep her at Netherfield. The rest of her visit was spent in discourse with her eldest daughter on the merits of various types of dragon species, though Alice, who still felt rather oppressed by her illness, though she endeavoured not to show it, could not hear the name of any dragon with any particular fondness.   
“Ma’am,” Said Alice at last, leaning over to take one of her mother’s hands in both of her own. “I quite agree that the scales of the Welsh Green are perfectly charming. However, it is equally clear to me that they would make a very unsuitable pet, and I must beg you not to think of it! Think how incommodious- papa would have to build a whole other house to keep it in! And the fire must be quite troublesome- how on earth should we keep it from the neighbours? We could never maintain the statue of secrecy. After all the work we all do to keep our spellwork from the eyes of others!”   
Her sister squirmed in her seat. Mrs Bennet nodded, defeated.   
“Aye, yer quite right, Alice. An’ I would not wish to land yer father in the suds- he does work so hard for us all. I jus’ so wish I were able to have a dragon.”   
“When I am rich, mama.” laughed Lily. “I shall buy an immense property in France or Bulgaria or some such place, and you may collect as many dragons as you please.”   
Mrs Bennet beamed, accepting the kiss her daughter planted on her cheek. “That is generous o’ yer, my love. Were that not generous o’ her, Bertha?”   
Bertha looked up from the document she and Mary were pouring over. “Pooh! That’s nothing. When I am rich, mama, I shall buy you a Hungarian Horntail. A baby, so that you may raise it up as your own.”   
“I shall breed every dragon in Europe until I get you a Portuguese Long Snout.” Declared Mary.   
“I should very much like to give you Antipodean Opaleye.” said Alice, a little wistfully. “I am not very attached dragons at this moment, but I have always found the Opaleye incredibly beautiful.”   
Lily sat on her sister's bed, smiling at their mother. “So you see, mama, we are all determined to be disgustingly rich, if only to please you by the purchase of lethal fire breathing creatures.”  
A sound like a foghorn trumpeted throughout the room as Mrs Bennet blew her nose into a scrap of lace. The smile dropped from Lily’s face, and she started up, putting a hand on her mother’s arm in concern. “Mama? What on earth is the matter?”   
“Yer jus’ all so good to me- and to have such a blundering fool o’ a mother- it were not what you all deserved!”   
Alice started up in her bed, turning a little pale with the exertion. “Mama! What we all deserved was a mother who cared as greatly and loved as deeply as you! No one could ever be as dear to us as you are.”   
“We wouldn’t promise dragons to just any old woman, you know.” Lily laughed, and Mrs Bennet gave a soggy sounding laugh of her own, and blew her nose again.   
“Yer good girls, all o’ ye, and yeh’ll find good husbands some day.”   
A mischievous grin lit Lily’s face. “Just promise us you won’t use any more rock cakes to try and catch them.”   
“Galopin Gargoyles, that reminds me! Mary, dear, in my bag there be some rock cakes I brought for Alice and Lily- to cheer yeh both. Fetch ‘em for yer sisters, Mary, Bertha, there’s more for yer waiting at home.”   
Mrs Bennet had interpreted “rock” a little too literally for Lily’s liking, and she slipped the treats under Alice’s pillow whilst her mother wasn’t looking. Her sister gave her a reproachful stare- it must have been quite uncomfortable.   
Lily prayed they would be summoned to dinner soon. She was becoming quite hungry. 

When they were asked down to the parlour, however, Lily could not help but regret ever thinking of quitting Alice.   
“-an’ if it were not for such good friends as my Alice has here- well. It were most fortunate that we met yeh, Bingley, I tell you this for nothin’. It upsets me so to see her ill- one never wishes to see a child ill, course, but especially one such as my Alice. She always were the most sweet tempered thing, and she suffers with the most mos’ patient sweetness yeh ever did see. I often tell me other girls that they are nothin’ to Alice’s sweetness of temper, don’t I, Lily?” Mr Bingley moved as if to say something in reply, but Mrs Bennet was still talking, and took no notice of him. “Mr Jones ‘as said we mustn't think o’ movin’ her, and I have to say I quite agree. It would not be proper- I trust Mr Jones with my life, I do, and Alice’s too. I fear we mus’ trespass a little longer on yer kindness, Mr Bingley.”   
“Of course!” Cried Mr Bingley, quite alarmed that it had even be suggested. “It is nothing- nothing at all! Removed? Why, it must not even be talked of! Miss Bennet simply must not be moved until absolutely all danger is passed. My sister, I am certain, will not hear of anything else.”   
“Indeed.” replied Miss Bingley, sounding exceedingly bored. Catching the eye of her brother, she recovered herself, and smiled a coldly at Mrs Bennet. “No attention to either of your daughters shall be spared them so long as they stay with us, ma’am.”   
Her mother’s acknowledgements were many, and almost unbearable for her elder daughter to sit through. Lily could feel the eyes of James Darcy trained upon her, could sense Mr Hurst’s amusement and the sister’s disdain, and ardently wished to be anywhere but there.   
It was like watching one of her mother’s dragons careening into a muggle settlement. These two societies were worlds apart, and she was powerless as they collided, unsure whether her desire to protect her family or her shame of the looks they were inspiring was stronger.   
“We do so hope, Mister Bingley, that yeh will not be in a hurry to leave Netherfield, though yer lease be so short.”   
“Whenever I put my mind to anything, I do it in a hurry. If I was to quit Netherfield, I am quite sure I should have done it within the day. However, you are right. Right now, I am very much resolved to stay in Netherfield as long as I may. It is quite the loveliest place I have ever settled.”   
His warm praise drew a smile from Lily, and she said, “Oh, that is just what I should have thought of you.”   
“You begin to work out my character, do you?” he said, turning towards her. Lily replied in the affirmative, and he gave a self deprecatory smile. “Am I really so very easily seen through, then, Miss Bennet?”   
“Lily! Mind yer manners.” Hissed Mrs Bennet. It took five minutes of Mr Bingley assuring her that it was ‘quite alright’ before Lily was able to speak again.   
“I enjoy studying characters.” Confessed Lily. “As diversions go, it is a most amusing one. But you cannot be upset at being so very easily studied; you have open and easy manners, are amiable and polite to everyone, and have much of everything in your favour. It does not make sense that an intricate and obscure character is necessarily a good one.”   
Almost without her volition, her eyes flickered to Darcy. He did not look up from his letter, but seemed to take this as an invitation to speak. “The country cannot provide very many subjects for such study.”   
“On the contrary, I find that people alter so greatly over the course of time, that there is always something new to be observed in them.”   
Looking as if she felt she had been slighted, without quite comprehending why, Mrs Bennet chose this moment to burst into the conversation with “I assure yeh there’s quite as much goin’ on in the country as in any town. There be a lot more worthwhile doin’, and much pleasanter folk than yeh’ll ever find in town.”   
A startled silence descended, and Mr Darcy, embarrassed by the misunderstanding and Mrs Bennet’s conduct, faced away.  
Perceiving a triumph, and determined to defend her society to the last, Mrs Bennet persisted, and continued to talk about the virtues of the county and the disagreeableness of London until the time came for departure, not to mention her own idea of good breeding (as it turned out, anything but Darcy), and didn’t Mr Bingley think poor Emmeline Lucas really rather plain? She was still to be heard lecturing on the subject as they were walking out the door.   
It was then that Bertha and Mary, who had been muttering furiously amongst themselves almost from the instant they had arrived at Netherfield’s front door, seemed to resolve something amongst themselves. Bertha, having been decided the most courageous, and the most determined, of the two, took a step forward.   
Bertha was a good humoured girl of fifteen, who dearly loved to laugh, and could find time to pursue nothing else. There are, of course, worse things in a young girl, and perhaps, if not for her mother’s very great fondness for her, and the considerable attention she had been gaining from the officers of late, it might have been cultivated into a gentleness of character. However, fifteen is a dangerous age for any young girl, and her experiences with the sixth regiment stationed in Meryton had leant Bertha a self assurance that, whilst not altogether displeasing, certainly was not suited to the Netherfield parlour. With great spirit, and very little tact, she reminded Mr Bingley of his assurance that he would hold a ball at Netherfield. This on its own may not have been so very bad, had she not elaborated with her opinion on how very disgraceful the whole town should find it, if he were to go back on his promise.   
Groaning internally, Lily wondered whether there wasn’t a convent nearby, which she might ship her two younger sisters off to, and which her mother might visit with ease on Sundays.   
Mr Bingley, however, took the abrupt attack with very good grace, and sent Mrs Bennet into ecstasies, with his reply that Bertha would name the day, the instant the eldest Miss Bennet was well enough to dance.   
With this delightful declaration, and one more attempt at conveying her thanks to Mr Bingley, Mrs Bennet was at last persuaded to leave. Lily watched her go with a degree of relief she almost felt guilty for, and retired the instant she was able to, leaving her own and her relations' behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of her, in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms on fine eyes. 

A man of five thousand a year, so long as he be in possession of all his own teeth, cannot fail to be described as handsome wherever he chooses to go.   
It shall come as no surprise, then, that though Mr Bingley was described in such glowing terms as to be rendered an Andonusis-esque figure in Alice’s mind prior to their acquaintance, the reality of him proved somewhat different.   
He was attractive in a manner one could class as “quiet”. His hair was an unspectacular light brown, his eyes were a dull blue, and Alice was unable to detect anything defined about his cheekbones. One of his front teeth was a little wonky, and, Alice had noted, there was a very subtle straining of his buttons about his waistcoat. He had neither the casual good looks of the easily elegant Mr Hurst, nor the pronounced attractiveness of Mr Darcy. Nevertheless, there was something very pleasing about him.   
Though his eyes were nothing extraordinary, there was a beguiling innocence and kindness about them when he smiled, which was often. He had nice shoulders, beneath his coat, broad and defined, and his hands were curiously lovely. He had a dimple in his chin and his cheeks that seemed to hint at depths of childlike wonder hidden away in the earnestness of the young man. There was a softness to him that did not undermine the steadiness and the solidity of his presence. And he had the longest eyelashes Alice had ever seen.   
She saw him looking at her, and her gaze snapped away from him as if she had been burned, colour rising in her cheeks.  
The eldest Bennet sister could not have told you how exactly these daily walks of theirs began. Last week, the day after her mother had left, Mr. Bingley had stumbled across her taking the air amongst his frozen flower beds, and, after fussing over her walking alone in the frost after her illness for a good ten minutes, he had offered to show her his hot house.   
At the time, nothing had felt more natural than that he should accompany her for the duration of her walk, or that he should want to show her the flowers he had persuaded to flourish in the sweltering heat of his greenhouse. And when, the next day, he had stumbled across her on the same path, Alice had been most ready to chalk it up to wonderful coincidence, and even happier to see a part of the hot house he had neglected to show her the day before. On the third day, however, Alice began to feel that such uniform walking habits in a gentleman with many demands on his time, and many sections of the grounds to explore, were a little bizarre. By the fourth day, a talk with Cornelia Bingley convinced her- there was no way he was hazarding on her by chance. Bingley was acting by design.   
As courteous and decorous as Mr. Bingley was, Alice was a young lady with nothing but a pretty smile and a thousand pounds with which to induce a man into matrimony. Reputation was everything for such a person, and as innocent a diversion as their walks were, Alice could not help feel alarmed.   
Not alarmed enough, however, to alter either the route or the time at which she “took the air”.   
“For you, Miss Bennet.” he lowered his gaze, and Alice, who was no stranger to courtship, found herself blushing, for she had never been courted like this. “If you can forgive the impertinence.”  
Apple blossoms.   
Interpreting flowers had been the favourite occupation of her younger sisters for several months the previous summer. Some of the best days of Alice’s life had been spent being followed through the garden by Mary and Bertha and Charlotte de Lateur, her hands in the earth, her sister’s arguing about the meaning of flowers and proposing to her using bouquets.   
Apple Blossoms. Meaning preference. She wondered if Mr Bingley knew that.   
“They’re lovely. Thank you.” she fought the urge to bury her nose in them. “You have such a variety of plants here, Mr Bingley. I wonder how you find the time to tend them all.”   
“This is nothing. You should see the hot house Darcy built for his sister- it is at least thrice this size, and with double the species of flora.”   
As much as Alice had heard in censure of Mr Darcy, Alice was beginning to think that being Marlene Darcy would not be so very bad at all. She would rather like someone to build her an orangery.   
“Still, I’ll warrant your friend does not take so much care over his greenhouse as you do. And you have persuaded your oranges to take root, which is very much to your credit. I was not even aware Netherfield had a hot house.”   
Sheepish, Mr Bingley offered her a smile. “It did not. I have always yearned to try my hand at creating a garden which would not wither away with the first frost. As soon as I rented Netherfield, I was determined I would create a greenhouse.”   
Alice’s heart beat loudly in her ears. The confession seemed very close to an intention of staying in the neighbourhood more permanently. She yearned to ask, but at the last second her nerve failed her, and she turned away, pretending to examine a patch of pansies.   
“But all the plants appear so established! And the cucumbers we ate last night- surely they could not have been the work of a few weeks?”   
Mr Bingley cleared his throat uncomfortably, his hands behind his back. “Yes, well. I have some very talented gardeners.”   
“Very talented indeed! This seems almost the work of magic.” Bingley gave a strangled laugh, and Alice looked at him in surprise. “Are you quite well?”   
“Oh, yes. You merely reminded me of my mother for an instant. She always felt a hot house would be a needless expense.”   
Straightening, Alice smiled, surveying him with interest. “Perhaps for some. But there is no pleasure like a garden. I once tried to build a hot house- without the glass, of course. I had a fancy to see forget me nots last November.”   
Poor Mr Bingley- she could have no idea how she looked to him, framed by all those flowers, hair coming loose about her shoulders and voice still hoarse from her illness. It took him a moment to collect himself. He regarded her with astonishment. “You built a hot house?”   
“Tried.” Alice corrected, with a rueful smile. “It was- not a successful venture. Perhaps the lack of glass. I have yet to grow forget me nots.”   
Bingley looked thoughtful. “They are not a very practical flower- forget me nots.”   
Of course, said Alice with a laugh, because apple blossoms and pansies were so very useful. Not everything has to have a function, and human beings do not always have to be serious. Sometimes, it is nice just to look at a thing of beauty, and say, thank the lord that exists.   
Frank Bingley looked at Alice,and thought, thank the lord you exist. 

They walked for some time through the hothouse- longer than usual. Though Alice had long grown tired, though her bones cried out for her bed, Mr Bingley’s arm through her own had a satisfying weight. She did not wish to go in just yet. For a while, she wished to stay there, lost amongst the greenery, listening to Frank Bingley talk about his potatoes.   
At length, however, her fan was no longer effective, and sweat beaded her brow. Frank Bingley frowned.   
“What an imbecile I am! You’re not yet recovered! Of course you’re too warm! And here I am, rambling on about jessamine and courgettes!” he looked at her reproachfully, leading her to the door and opening it with an agitated sweep. “You could have told me.”   
Alice smiled, looking out into the winter landscape. Somehow, all the sunlight in the world seemed to be contained in Mr Bingley’s lovely garden house, and she could not bear the thought of leaving.   
“I’m just a little unbalanced at the moment. The warmth will do me good.” a sweet sort of mischief moved across her face. “You are the one who is always moving me closer to the fire, are you not?”   
Bingley smiled the smile of a guilty party. “Well, if you won’t move out of the heat, at least take an orange. We absolutely cannot have your nurse accusing me of neglect.”   
Lily Bennet was a lovely girl, lively and well informed and interesting. But she scared Frank just a little.   
Ignoring the protest that oranges were a cure for consumption, not dragon pox, Alice accepted Bingley’s arm. However many times they walked the paths, there would always be something to catch her interest, and the first couple of steps were spent in silence, with her surveying the plants, and him surveying her.   
“Miss Bennet- Alice- may I call you Alice? Of course I may not- that was unforgivable- quite improper- of course, you must be Miss Bennet- I- my sincerest apologies, I do not know what came over me. Alice is just such a- well, it suits you rather well, you see, and I have always thought of you- always, that is, since I have made your acquaintance, which is not so very- not that that excuses- I, forgive me Miss Bennet.”   
Mortified, he lapsed into silence, looking at the strawberry plants as if he wished them to grow teeth and swallow him whole. Alice felt laughter bubble up in her throat, and something else, something a lot like nerves. She swallowed it, and pressed his arm, turning to look at him.   
“Alice is fine, Mr Bingley.”   
“Right- well then- yes. I suppose you could call me Frank?” His look was impossibly soft and impossibly hopeful. Alice felt that perhaps she may be sick.   
The fact of the matter was, Alice was a witch. And witches could not marry muggles. Or rather, they could, but it almost never turned out well. Mr Bingley- Frank- Alice felt sure, would grow to distrust her as something wicked and dark and dishonest, for she went against everything he had been brought up to believe, and she could not tell him... Bringing with her besides the dangers and darkness of her world at present, it would be a miracle if he did not learn to despise her. And the truth was that Frank Bingley despising her was more than Alice Bennet’s heart could bear.   
He must not ask her to marry him, whatever her mother thought. He must not, for if he did, she must break his heart. And that would break hers.   
“Yes.” murmured she. “I suppose I could.”   
But she couldn’t seem to help herself.   
“Ah. Here we are.” he said, as they rounded the corner, and the orange tree came into sight. “You know, I never did understand why they’re called oranges. They look rather green to me.”   
Clearly, Frank Bingley was seeing something Alice could not. There was no tree- not a grown one, at any rate. The little shrub on the ground by their feet looked as if it had been planted only last week, when just yesterday, Alice and Frank had passed this very spot, in which a full grown tree had stood.   
“How very odd.”   
But Frank did not hear her- he was saying something to her, though his voice was momentarily indistinct. As he said it, he moved his hand- the one not linked through hers- almost imperceptibly behind his back. As if by magic, there a tree stood, branches heavy with green fruit. It looked as if it had been growing for years.   
Mr Bingley stopped a moment to examine the tree. For a moment, Alice felt sure that he was as taken aback as she- that any second he must begin to stutter in that charmingly bewildered way of his, about wrong turning and tricks of the eye. That there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation.  
Then, he reached up with a satisfied smile, plucked a large orange from the highest branch, and carried on talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. His companion’s gaze fell upon his hand, curled behind his back.   
Curled, around the handle of a wand.   
How had she failed to notice? Surely that should have been obvious from the start! Even neglecting the more subtle signs- the flowering blooms, the ripe summer fruits in November, the sunlight filling the hot house… What kind of fool doesn’t see a muggle with a huge great branch of a wand held behind his back?   
A buzzing noise filled Alice’s ears, and she took a faltering step back as it rang, louder and louder, until suddenly it stopped.   
“-how very much I esteem and admire- Miss Bennet!”   
Maybe she looked like she was fainting- she certainly felt like it. Frank dropped forwards, a steadying hand on her back, his eyes bright and concerned. How she had grown to love that look! Love it, without knowing anything about its owner at all…   
“Alder and Unicorn hair?”   
Frank froze, wild alarm lighting up his whole countenance. “I beg your pardon?”  
“You’re a wizard.” Alice whispered without preamble, suddenly exhausted to the very core of her being. “And your wand is alder and unicorn hair. I’m right, am I not?”   
His expression was all she needed to confirm that she was. Straightening, she stepped neatly away from him, turning her face away from him so he could not see that she had begun to cry, and wrapped her arms about herself. It was as though the magic had begun to fail, now that she knew it for what it was, for she was suddenly cold. Frank’s arms fell, useless, to his sides.   
“How is it that you know that?”   
A tired laugh that disguised a sob. She could not look at him. “Those books on your shelf, the ones that Lily was looking at the other day, the ones with blank pages- they’re textbooks, aren’t they? For Hogwarts. I would stake a great deal that you went to Hogwarts. The boys always do. Your sisters, however- I imagine that they stayed at home. We all stay at home.” she turned to look at him, then, the most peculiar expression pulling at her face. Through his shock, Frank felt that expression like a blow to the heart, and it was all he could do not to close the space between them and pull her head to his chest until it slipped from her face.   
“I did not have a cold, when I arrived here. I had dragon pox- you needn’t be concerned. It was not contagious, and even underneath these concealment charms, I’ve no permanent marks.” She gave a strangled laugh. “I am still a little green. But I don’t think your oranges are going to help with that.”   
Silence fell, and Alice could discern the trickling of Frank’s fountain, though she could no longer be certain what was real. The need to leave burned through her. She wanted to run, to find Lily and fly home and never come back. She wanted to cry into her own pillow and sleep in her own bed. Something about the emotional shock of discovery had drained every ounce of energy from her body, however, and she did not seem to be able to drag her eyes away from Frank Bingley’s face.   
There was something unsaid between them, she knew, though it took her a minute to work out what it was.   
Finally, she landed upon it. “Larch and dragon heartstring.”  
Wild, inexplicable joy spiked through Frank like a blow, and it was only with great effort that he stopped himself closing the space between them and wrapping his arms around her, in spite of her tears.“What?”   
“My wand is larch and dragon heartstring.” She whispered. It was like an admission, he thought the way she spoke the words, lingering momentarily on each one before she let them fall, one by one, from her lips. Frank Bingley had been honoured with a lot of secrets, over his lifetime, more than he would care to admit. In that moment, he felt that every second of his life had been training for this. For there was something novel and thrilling about being privy to Alice’s secret, even if it wasn’t actually a secret, because it felt like he was viewing some part of her that no one else had ever seen.   
Something that had been absent reentered her voice as she said it, and Frank knew rather than felt the longing surging through him, as if perhaps he could take back that orange and everything would be okay.   
But what was he talking about? This was a good thing. An excellent thing!   
Frank had never intended to fall in love with a muggle. Being a part of their society, of course, at times such as this, was a necessity. But falling in love with them most certainly was not. It didn’t work, he knew. Everyone knew. Secrets such as this could only be concealed from a spouse for so long. When muggles produced witches and wizards, when they lost them to another world, their spouse’s world, a world they could never enter-   
He’d known he couldn’t marry muggle Alice. Had always known he couldn’t marry Alice. Because their children would go to Hogwarts, and she wouldn’t understand. And with everything that was going on in his world, it would be dangerous for her. She would be isolated and scared and alone. And she’d hate him for it.   
And the truth was that Alice Bennet hating him was more than Frank Bingley’s heart could bear. Staring at her, he saw something in her face- perhaps something about the expression of her eyes, bright blue and sparkling so bright in the afternoon sunlight- and he knew who she was.   
There had definitely been something familiar about her father, when he’d came to visit. After, he’d spent days with the strange feeling that something was wrong, like the line of a familiar ditty that dangled just beyond his grasp. He was only now that he realised what it was.   
“You’re Professor Dumbledore’s daughter?”   
Startled, Alice nodded.   
A beat of silence elapsed before either spoke again, in which Alice watched the orange tree, and Frank watched Alice. Slowly, a smile spread over her face, and her unspent tears spilled forth. “My apologies, Mr Bingley. I was surprised, is all- I’ve grown so used to this secret, to make that kind of discovery- shock seemed to translate into sadness. I barely know what came over me.”   
“You have no cause to ask for forgiveness. I’m still adjusting to the surprise myself. Under the circumstances, I think you took it very well.”   
Alice raised her eyes, almost laughing. “You do?”   
“Oh, yes. I’m told there is usually a lot more screaming in these circumstances.”   
Alice laughed. “Did you have no suspicions?”   
“None at all. I have been the biggest idiot known to man.” He gave way to laughter, halting at first, then encouraged by her joining him, to a full bellied laughter that seemed to shake his whole frame. He threw his head back, nostrils flaring and eyes twinkling, and Alice found her eye drawn to the curve of his bottom lip, to the stubble ghosting along his jaw line.“Did you know, that when your father came to form my acquaintance with me, he appeared to be a ginger man in his late 50s with a distractingly thick Scottish accent? I have been startled ever since, every time I have heard one of his daughters speak.”   
“Papa did what?” Alice cried, echoing his amusement, and his bewilderment. “Why on earth should he disguise himself, when he already knew you? He could have saved us a great deal of trouble and confusion!”   
Frank smiled, tilting his face down, a few centimetres between them, taking both of her hands in his own. “I have learnt your father is a very perplexing wizard, who does nothing without reason, though sometimes that reason is nothing more than his own diversion. If you wish to know his motivation, I believe you shall have to ask him yourself, for I don’t have an answer.”   
If she wished, Alice could count every one of those eyelashes she had been admiring earlier in the day. “Mr Bingley, I-”  
“Frank.” he interrupted.   
“Frank.” She agreed, and quite lost track of what she wanted to say. 

Darcy, at the very least, was incredibly relieved to learn that the Miss Bennet’s would be leaving the following day.   
The previous evening had involved a debate about the attributes of an accomplished woman, and whilst his pointed allusion to reading appeared to have escaped Miss Bennet, Miss Bingley was not quite so unconscious. Mr Darcy had found, over the past few days, that he was drawn to Miss Lily Bennet without precisely knowing why, so much so that he felt himself to be in very real danger. He didn’t want Miss Bennet to realise the power she had over him. It would put him in a very awkward position, and give her unrealistic aspirations. He was determined he would betray no more signs of his admiration, and hoped that she had not noticed his behaviour towards her thus far.   
Miss Bingley was becoming impossible to endure.   
There was only one person in the whole house, in fact, to whom the departure of the Bennet sisters- and of one Bennet sister in particular- was an occasion for grief. The master of the house was so grieved by it, in fact, that he almost wished the eldest Miss Bennet ill again, and began to detect symptoms in her glowing complexion that even the doctor’s expertise, and Lily’s overactive concern, could not see. Cornelia Bingley, who had long ago realised that she could never like the one sister as much as she envied the other, begrudgingly extended their stay by another night.   
But even Bingley’s affection must yield to the pragmatic arguments of the constitution, and he was forced to admit that Miss Alice Bennet looked remarkably well- better, even, than she had at the assembly, a week prior to her illness- and, once his mind had been reconciled to the loss of her whose society his happiness had begun almost exclusively to depend, could not be stopped from going to every pain in arranging his most superior carriage and most affable drivers to escort the young ladies home.   
Lily, for her part, watched arrangements with a considerable degree of satisfaction. When her sister had been ill, she had felt that she would have nothing to wish for ever again, if only God should grant Alice back her health. When her sister had gotten well again, however, she had discovered that this was not exactly true, for she would have nothing left to wish for ever again, if only she could see her sister restored to health at home. And now she was going home, Lily thought that perhaps she would have nothing left to wish for ever again, if only she could live the rest of her life without having to set her eyes on either Mr Darcy or Mr Hurst for the duration of her life.   
Such is the fickleness of human nature.   
Caught up as she was in the daily irritations of Mr Hurst’s dangerous insinuations about her magic and Mr Darcy’s bizarre manners and provoking attentions, Lily could not fail to notice that a shift had taken place in Alice and Mr Bingley’s relationship. Her sister did not want to talk about it, but Lily suspected that with a little more time, Bingley’s reluctance to lose Alice might have materialised in a marriage proposal. Even knowing that he was a wizard, and liking him as a man, Lily found the prospect of a union between her sister and Bingley made her feel slightly nauseous. If she was completely honest with herself, it formed part of her desire to spirit her sister away from Netherfield as fast as she could.   
At the instant of parting, almost all were sorry that it had not taken place sooner. Spirits restored by the prospect of having Darcy- and the ambitions he represented- to herself, Cornelia Bingley was kindness itself to Alice, and even endeavoured to be properly civil to Lily, shaking her hand and declaring her happy anticipation of their next meeting at the Netherfield ball.   
“How very glad I shall be to return home.” sighed Alice, resting her head against the window pane.   
“There is nothing at all like one’s own bed.” agreed Lily, thinking with longing of the shabby Longbourn furniture, the fire filling the room with a sweet smoky perfume. The carpet had a hole in it by the door, and there was a stain in the wallpaper above the fireplace where a Jelly-Legs hex had hit, which they told everyone was strawberry jam. Not half so elegant as Netherfield- yet what luxury, to speak without having to first analyse every word you say, and not to worry about being uncivil or refusing a game of whist!   
As they drew closer, she grew more and more nostalgic for her home, for the comfort and familiarity that can never be found abroad. “I think I might even have missed Petunia.” she added, in the silence that had filled up the carriage.   
But Alice was not paying any attention- her eyes were on the landscape, drinking in the splashes of winter flowers and the group of figures as they waved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to DelphiPsmith and JMar for their wonderful comments, and to all the lovely people who left kudos! 
> 
> Next up: Severus Collins and Peter Wickham vie for Lily's attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Hagrid's dialogue was kind of an alarming hybrid of Tess of the D'Urbervilles and the black country dialect translator I found in the first draft- I've tried to put it right, but I'm not sure of how much success I had.  
> I'm not Austen or Rowling. I've tried to retain a Pride and Prejudice feel whilst also bringing in some of Rowling's work, but in places it's nothing more than direct Pride and Prejudice quotes- it seems like blasphemy to think I could write Austen with an eight of her wit.  
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!


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